


like gold you [never] fade

by VerdantMoth



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Age Difference, Anal Sex, Awkward First Times, Awkwardness, Body Hair, Exhibitionism, Fantasizing, First Kiss, First Time, Frottage, Hand Jobs, Kissing, M/M, Nipple Licking, Underage Masturbation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-12
Updated: 2019-01-12
Packaged: 2019-10-08 15:13:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,680
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17388728
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VerdantMoth/pseuds/VerdantMoth
Summary: He’s mindless in his walk for a while, until he reaches a familiar tree. There used to be a house up there, until the storm smashed it to the ground. Someone cleared away the wooden slats. There’s someone laying on the ground, and from here he knows they’re naked. They usually are.





	like gold you [never] fade

**Author's Note:**

> Nothing sexual occurs between Merlin and Arthur until Merlin is of age. However teen Merlin does have a few moments. If you're worried about not liking it, leave now.

1 

Merlin stumbles across him two days before he begins year 10. He’s lurking in the woods around where the old treehouse crashed in the last storm. He likes it out there; it’s quiet, peaceful, and there’s no one to harass him. Usually there’s no one around at all. But he’s about to climb between the broken wood slats and nestle in the corner where it stays dry when a flash of something to the left catches his eye.

He shouldn’t, but he goes to investigate, carefully stepping over broken wood and other rubble. There’s a man, or at least a boy older than him, laying on his back. He’s tan, bathed in fractured sunlight filtered through the trees. That’s what Merlin sees first. And then he realizes that the man is naked. Completely and totally starkers. 

He’s supposed to avert his eyes. Merlin knows this. But he’s is laying there, one hand under his blond head and the other lazily resting in the thatch of deep gold curls right above his- Merlin jerks. He slips on something, leaf rot or something, and falls. The guy doesn’t move, and Merlin is afraid to breath lest he disturb him. 

From his new angle, Merlin can see the way the broken sunlight catches in random patterns on all the hair on this person. So many shades of gold, more than he thought could exist, swirling up and down legs and belly and chest and arms. Even on his knuckles as he scratches lazily. 

“It’s rude to stare.” 

Merlin doesn’t see the man’s mouth move, but he hears the amusement in it. He stands, nearly falls again, and then takes off running. Whether the man actually laughs, or its his own ghost haunting him, Merlin doesn’t linger to discover. 

2 

He doesn’t see the man for a long time, but he doesn’t forget him. In part, because he thinks he  _ knows _ who it is. He doesn’t remember if he saw the guys face, distracted as he was by the  _ hair _ , but the voice- 

Everyone knows Arthur Pendragon. He host CamelotReborn. It’s a stupid radio show that plays a strange and eclectic variety of random songs, occasionally interrupted by Arthur ranting about whatever amuses him. But Merlin knows Arthur from before he got as popular as one did in Ealdor. 

He used to watch Merlin sometimes, when his parents jaunted off to wherever they went. Arthur was always nice enough to him, indulged his fantasies, but he outgrew Merlin the same way Balinor did.

Merlin looks for him. Not out in the woods; he’s too afraid to go back. But he watches around the school, and in the store, and sometimes at the creek when he’s hanging with Will and Elyan. Arthur’s gone though, hiding wherever he does that. 

3 

Merlin forgets about him after a while. What else is he to do? He’s distracts by school and kisses behind the school and the realization he’s not the one getting kisses behind the school. 

But then it’s winter break. And he should be excited because school is out and he’s got a birthday and all he can think about is how Will’s father took him on a trip and Elyan spends all his time with Elena now. Mother had to pick up an extra shift and Balinor… Merlin never knows where he gets off to anymore.

He sneaks off the the community center. It’s snowing, so the walk there sucks, hard, but he knows a window in the back that never gets locked. He found it once, when he was about 8, and since heats too expensive most winters, he spends a lot of time hiding in the showers. 

It’s late enough now that he thinks he might can swim some. He’s not got a suit, but they have towels there and no one’ll be around. He finds the window, pushes, and tumbles in bringing the snow with him. 

It’s dark. He wishes he’d brought a torch with him, but it’s too risky to flick the lights on. He knows his way around well enough that he only bumps his shin twice, before finding the handles of the pools doors.

He knows he has a problem before he’s opened them alway the way; he can hear the quiet shifting of someone treading water. It’s too dark to see much; the whole damn town is tree-sheathed. The moon peaks between some, but not nearly enough for Merlin to know who is in there. 

He thinks maybe they haven’t heard him. But before he lets the door go he hears, “I don’t bite.” 

Fucking Arthur Pendragon. He considers leaving, bolting like he never heard the voice. But a small, persistent part of him is curious. About what, it fails to tell the rest of him, but Merlin finds himself slipping through the doors and walking to the edge of the pool. He stands there for a moment. 

There’s enough moon that Merlin can see bits and pieces of Arthur as he lingers by the edge. Enough to know he’s floating on his back, naked. Again. He still can’t see his face for the shadows, but he can see his chest, nipples pebbled in the cool air. 

As Arthur floats, his nipples fade from view and his belly, soft looking in spite of the muscles passes Merlin. He’s mesmerized by the little trail of hair he can see, by the curls drifting into his view. By the cock that seems to appear spontaneously before him. 

Merlin hasn’t seen a lot of pricks. He’s studied his own some, and Will and Elyan had certainly tried to show off, but there’s something different about Arthur’s. About how it’s curved against his thigh, thick and long, and oddly red even bathed in the dim moon glow. 

Merlin knows he is staring, and it isn’t until Arthur’s thighs take up most of his field of vision, until his knees come into view, that Merlin glances at where Arthur’s face should be. 

He can’t see for sure in the dark, but he thinks Arthur is staring right at him. “You should go, Merlin. Storm’s supposed to come soon.”

Merlin bolts, sweaty and itchy, his belly churning in a way that’s inexplicable but almost pleasant.

4 

Arthur cheated school. That’s the rumor, anyway. But Merlin remembers long summers were Arthur spent as much time studying as he did watching Merlin. He doesn’t know why, but Arthur had decided early on he was graduating and getting out. 

The Pendragon Manor was sold a year after Arthur left school, the elder Pendragon’s disappearing wherever rich people disappeared to. Will had theories about black rings and drug markets. Elyan figured exotic cruise and tropical beaches. 

Merlin remembered Arthur drunk once, and telling him of a farm somewhere in the south of the United States. It didn’t matter, really. Arthur had cheated school, popped on the radio, and made it so the only way to find him was to spin a dial. 

But then he started appearing  _ everywhere _ . Outside the door of Merlin’s literature class, head low. Hovering in the corner of the gymnasium, inspecting a mural. Once in the labs before classes started. Merlin was pretty sure he was smuggling… something, but Will had gotten in his way and then Arthur was gone.

He’s everywhere, eyes never on Merlin but presence overbearing. Merlin itches, the same way he had at the pool, and his skin gets flushed and his stomach, well it doesn’t hurt, but it doesn’t feel right. 

He gets sent home a few times a week. Then classes are over, and Arthur is gone once more.

5

Summer sucks in Ealdor. Not heat wise, it’s actually rather mild in this area, and prone to sudden downpours. But Will spends the whole summer at his grandparents and Elyan spends it getting into trouble with Elena. 

His mother works long hours. Merlin fixes dinner that goes cold most nights.

Sometimes he hates being old enough to watch after himself. 

He used to spend long days about in the woods, but they feel wrong now, in ways he cannot explain. He’d go to the pool, but he feels out of his skin there. He hates going into town, to the cafes or shops, where people want to talk to him. In the end, he spends a lot of his time in his own backyard, listening to CamelotReborn. Arthur plays some wicked songs. Literally and figuratively. There’s a couple Merlin isn’t sure are  _ actually _ allowed on air, but it’s a small private station and Ealdor doesn’t care.

He can’t explain it, which is becoming a thing he hates these days, but Arthur’s voice does things to him.Not by itself,  _ he isn’t totally bonkers yet,  _ but the voice attached to the memories…

It’s like his mind took a picture of Arthur’s hand lazy in his curls and of the moon glaring of the shiny head. 

He’s not entirely sure he means too, he first time. But Arthur’s mumbling to himself, like he’s forgotten he has an audience, and Merlin can see the gold dust on his chest and he slides a hand down his own belly, trying to imagine what Arthur’s might feel like. 

His own prick is sort of skinny in his palm, and his hand is a little rough against it, but Arthur exhales, slow and tired, and Merlin can’t help what his cock does. 

He hurries in to clean himself, before his mother comes home, and his hides the radio back under his bed.

6 

Arthur disappears for all of Year 11. Totally, completely vanished. There’s an investigation, yellow tape goes up around a cottage, and people whisper. Arthur’s friend takes over CamelotReborn. 

Merlin likes Gwaine well enough. His music choices are surprisingly more tame than Arthur but his jokes are absolutely filthy. Merlin blushes anytime he opens his mouth. But he doesn’t talk about Arthur, doesn’t speculate the way the town does. 

Merlin eventually finds his way back to where the rotting treehouse once was, but someone has cleared it away. Merlin lays on the ground anyway. He doesn’t strip totally naked, but he does, in the warmer months, get brave enough to linger in just his boxers.

He stretches out the way he remembers Arthur, left hand in his curls and right arm pillowing his head. Part of him wonders if he is as beautiful as Arthur was that day. The rest of him knows it’s cloudy out, and he’s skinny. 

But he imagines the dark hair makes a nice contrast to his pale skin.

Sometimes Elyan and Elena invite him to the pool. He goes, but the first time someone floats by him on their back, he nearly creams himself in the deep end. He starts begging off, with a variety of more and more ridiculous excuses no one bothers to question.

He does go on his birthday. He spends the night in the showers, a strange disappointment blooming between his ribs. 

By the end of the school year, he’s nearly forgotten Arthur.

7

Of course, that’s when the shit floats back into town. He’s leaner than Merlin remembers. His jaw a little sharper and his cheeks a little more hollow. He still looks soft, still something Merlin wants to explore, but there’s a distance in his eyes.

He looks at Merlin now. Or, looks right through him. 

Merlin hates it, hates Arthur. Arthur takes back over his radio show, and he takes over random classes at the community center. No one questions it, or where he’s been, but Merlin wants to know still.

Arthur’s the worst. He expects Merlin to  _ run, _ and to do push ups and sit ups. Once, even he orders him to climb a rope. Merlin refuses. Loudly and enthusiastically. He doesn’t quite stomp his feet, but he crosses his arms and he grinds his teeth.

Arthur is a tactile coach. Not with everyone, not with most of them. But Merlin seems especially clumsy to him, and needs to constantly be shown the proper way to do everything. He’d disapproved of Merlin;s form running once, and had actually got down on his knees before him. He’d gripped Merlin’s ankles, his shins, his hips. Had forced his foot  _ heel-toe _ and his arms move.

Merlin had shoved him away and bolted for the showers. But not before he’d seen the slight smirk that told him Arthur had seen the effect it had on him. In theory, he could just stop coming. But he tells himself it’s for health reasons. 

Arthur corners him in the showers a few weeks after the running incident. He doesn’t do much, just hovers in Merlin’s personal space while he’s got a towel wrapped around his space. He moves forward and Merlin steps back, until his back hits the tile and he hisses at the cold. Arthur smirks again.

His fingers hover against the edge of the towel. And then he leaves, and Merlin’s knees buckle. It’s the longest, most frigid shower of his life, and he still leaves stains on the wall.

8 

Hunith invites Arthur over for dinner one night during the summer. She apparently ran into him at the market “struggling to pick veggies that wouldn’t kill him.” 

Arthur doesn’t look the least bit ashamed, if the way he leers at Merlin is anything to go by. Merlin’s wearing shorts that are too small, and one of Hunith’s tank-tops because all of his are in the wash. 

“You stopped coming to the community center,” Arthur says in greeting. 

“Got busy,” Merlin mumbles, trying to stretch the shorts further down his thighs.

Hunith outs him. “Lies! Merlin spends all his time with his ear pressed to the radio out under the trees in the back. Won’t ever tell me what he’s listening to though. Now, you boys go wash up. Dinner’s almost done.” 

Merlin leads Arthur to the hall washroom, mostly because Arthur follows him there. He doesn’t bother waiting for Merlin to finish, crowding him against the sink. It’s a small room, designed for one small person, so Arthur’s front is pressed against Merlin’s back. 

Every time one of them moves, Merlin can feel Arthur’s jeans digging in to the cleft of his butt. Arthur finishes first, but he leaves his hands dripping over the sink. It takes Merlin a moment to realize it’s because he’s blocking the towel, but he’s too afraid to lean away from the sink. 

The cold porcelain digging into his hips isn’t enough to distract other parts of his anatomy. 

Arthur’s breath is hot on his neck, and he leans into Merlin like he might reach around him. He must realize it still won’t work, because he settles his hands on Merlin’s hips, slides them down his shorts. He jerks when his fingers brush the tops of Merlin’s thighs. 

Arthur finishes drying them off on his own dark shirt. Hunith chastises Merlin for not using a towel, and he glares at their dinner guest. Arthur continues to smirk, and spends most of dinner finding ways to touch Merlin. His wrist, his knee, his neck. 

Merlin’s nearly crossed eyed with tension when he’s finally able to waddle to his room. He doesn’t think biting his pillow is really enough to keep what he’s doing a secret. 

9 

Arthur becomes something of a fixture after that. It’s the best and worst thing, because Merlin’s never lonely anymore, but he’s also always two seconds from staining his pants. 

There’s no guest room in the house. Merlin’s bedroom is actually a converted study that barely fits a bed and a wardrobe. But Hunith blows up an a mattress and magically squeezes it in there. Merlin  _ hates _ her for it.    
  
Arthur rarely stays on his mattress. He never explains why he’s staying with them, and his mother only gives him a sad look, but most nights, Arthur drifts from the floor to Merlin’s bed.

He sleeps in soft pants, and nothing more. Merlin used to wear his boxers to bed, but he sleeps in sweats now. 

Arthur always starts with his back to Merlin’s, but they usually wake up spooning, and Merlin’s always the little one. He can’t ever tell if he’s rubbing up against Arthur’s crotch, or if Arthur’s gently thrusting into his butt.

They never talk about the wet patches, or how often Arthur has to do laundry while Hunith is out. 

They never talk about the times they wake up with Arthur palming Merlin’s prick, above and below the cloth, or the times Arthur’s hands are sticky with Merlin’s release. They don’t talk about Merlin moaning Arthur’s name in his sleep, or those nights he shifts, curls into Arthur’s chest, and wakes with a hairy nipple in his mouth. 

Really, they don’t talk about a lot of things.

10  

Merlin finds it strange that no one else finds it strange that Arthur has basically moved into his room. Arthur laughs at him over their cereal one morning. “Ealdor is used to strange, Merlin. No one lives here because they’re  _ normal. _ Because they’re  _ sane. _ ” 

It’s not an explanation, but it somehow settles him. He’s a week away from being done with compulsory school, when it dawns on him that he’s never been kissed. It seems odd, that he’s never really thought about it. It’s even odder given his night time activities. 

Arthur notices, because he always does when something is bugging Merlin. Merlin brushes it off. “Not sure what I’ll do with all this freetime,” is how he deflects. 

Arthur snorts. “You’ll publish some of those stories you keep tucked under your mattress.”

Merlin blushes, and shame slinks through his joints. He upends his coke on Arthur, and for a moment he is mesmerized by the way the dark liquid seeps into his hair, makes it look like hidden treasure. But then he remembers his rage and he storms off.

11 

Arthur finds him two days after he’s done with school, drunk as a skunk and lost in the woods.  

“Isn’t like you to be so reckless, Merlin.” Arthur speaks, and there’s a tone in his voice that sounds almost fatherly. It enrages Merlin.

“Fuck you. Like you know anything about me at all.” He’s proud of himself for getting the words out coherently. 

Arthur frowns, but he doesn’t challenged the statement. Instead he grips merlin by the shoulders and tugs, trying to usher him back towards home. Merlin Struggles against him, drops his bottle., and knocks them both into the mud. 

“You entitled, fucking, prick.” Merlin snarls. But the moon found a gap in the leaves and it’s resting against Arthur’s cheek. There’s fuzz, silvery in the light though Merlin knows it’s gold. For some reason it makes him sad, makes him ache that he can’t see the sunny shine. 

He runs a finger over it, surprised to find it sort of sharp, and not at all soft. He’s drunk, and he’s weigh Arthur down with his body. So he kisses him.

As far as first kisses go, it doesn’t suck. Arthur’s a little surprised, a little stiff, and his lips are chapped. But they find the right angle, and Arthur’s hands rest on Merlin’s lower back, and spit softens the press of their mouths.

Arthur bites at his lower lip, and Merlin hisses, ruts against him. He bites again, and Merlin doesn’t quite see stars, but he definitely quits breathing. “I know everything about you, Merlin.”

12

The walk back isn’t nearly as awkward as Merlin had expected. In part, because Arthur clutches hand tight the whole way (and Merlin tries to memorize the warm feel of his skin, every ridge of his palm, every scar), and partly because no one is around to make it uncomfortable. 

There’s a note on the door when they get back, telling them Hunith had to cover a shift and they’re on their own until at least lunchtime tomorrow. 

They don’t hesitate to go straight to Merlin’s bed. It’s not a blur, but Merlin isn’t entirely sure either, how he ends up naked on his bed with Arthur hovering above him. For the first time that he can remember, Arthur looks vulnerable. Scared. He looks like a boy who's lost everything, and it makes something in Merlin ache. Like he’s inhaled too much chlorine or something. He gently cups Arthur’s face, fingers stroking over the fuzz. He doesn’t kiss him, not his lips. He licks at his neck, and his collarbone, and he gently bites at his nipples. 

Arthur shivers above him, a volatile thing that courses through his entire body. Merlin can feel him against his thigh, thick and weepy, pulsing. 

Sex the first time is not the thing of books and movies. They can’t get the angle right. Merlin’s a little grossed out by the spit, and Arthur’s fingers are clumsy. By the time he’s shooting, hot and weird and sticky, in Merlin, by the time Merlin  _ finally _ shoots against his own chest, they’re tired and annoyed with each other. 

Arthur showers first, and by the time Merlin comes to the room, his sheets are changed and Arthur’s asleep on the floor. He stays there the whole night, and Merlin wakes up cold.

13 

It’s different, after that. Enough that Hunith tries to encourage bonding between them. Arthur’s still friendly, still helps Merlin submit his stories to publishers, but he keeps his distance. Merlin’s gut churns, embarrassment or shame or some other nameless thing, filling his belly.

He loses weight, and he justifies it by spending long hours racing through the paths in the woods.

Winter is approaching, and Arthur’s grown irritable. Always snapping at Merlin, bossing him around like he’s watching him again. 

The eve before Merlin turns 19, he’s had enough. It’s snowing, and Hunith’s sent them to play in it like Arthur a child again. She’s making a roast and they’re in the back, hidden from the window. 

“You took everything from me, you know. And now you won’t hardly look at me,” Merlin mutters. It comes out broken through his chattering teeth, and it makes him furious. He’s not a child afraid of this conversation. He’s just cold. 

“Impossible,” Arthur scoffs. He doesn’t at all sound cold.

“My first naked body. First wank. My first kiss. First time.” Merlin lists them off the way he might birds hanging about the branches. 

Arthur exhales, an aghast sound, and when Merlin looks at him, the horror staring back at him punches him in the guts. “You can’t be serious. There was no one before me?” 

Merlin can feel his brows pinching in the middle. “Well, yeah. I saw you that day in the woods, and I don’t know. I never saw anyone else.” 

Arthur, gold like pirates’ treasure, goes ashen. “I’m so sorry, Merlin.” 

“What? No. I don’t want that!” Merlin’s lip begins to wobble and tears freeze in the corner of his eyes. “I don’t want you to be ashamed of me, Arthur. I want you to…” he trails off, unable to figure out exactly what he wants. 

Arthur’s hand finds his cheek. It’s cold, bitterly so, and Merlin’s surprised he’s not wearing gloves. “I could never be ashamed. I just never wanted to deny you options. You should be out there with, with, other people.”  _ People your age. People like you. _

“You’re not that much older than me,” Merlin argues. Snot freezes against his upper lip, and when he wipes it with the back of his hand, it scratches him. 

“You’re young enough it matters.” 

14 

Arthur moves out two days after Merlin’s birthday. He does it quiet, while Merlin’s out meeting the people who are going to make his novel happen. Hunith beams, “So proud of my boys! Growing up this way.” 

It comes out that Arthur’s parents really did jet off to a farm in the Southern U.S. That they left him a sizable fortune to make his own way. Arthur owned a small cottage hidden in the woods, and taught at the community center to cover his daily expenses.

It comes out, he left for a year because he was in love with someone he couldn’t have. That he came back when he thought they were available. But it comes out that Arthur’s a little gay and he couldn’t handle facing folks that away.

Merlin hates Ealdor and her gossiping ways. No one suspects it’s him, who broke Arthur’s heart. No one thinks that maybe Arthur broke someone’s heart as well. But they run into each other in town, and they’re polite when they meet at the pool.

Arthur always looks a little wane to Merlin. A little grey-scale in ways he can’t explain. 

Once, Merlin lingered in the showers. Arthur had sauntered in. He hadn’t seen him right away, but when he had, he’d frozen. They’d stared for a long time, swaying towards each other. Merlin had thought, at one point, Arthur would reach out for him, would touch him.

Arthur leaves, dirty and sweaty,, abandoning his things on the bench. 

15

Merlin publishes one novel, and then another. He moves Hunith into a slightly larger, yet still cozy house at the edge of the woods. He begins building himself a small little hovel deeper in. Sometimes Arthur will swing by for a cuppa with Hunith. Sometimes they see each other while shopping. Arthur’s lost his shine though, not even the sun can make him glitter. 

And then one day, Merlin is roaming through the woods. He’s stuck in his story, unsure of how to make his characters play nice. Strolling usually clears his head. 

He’s mindless in his walk for a while, until he reaches a familiar tree. There used to be a house up there, until the storm smashed it to the ground. Someone cleared away the wooden slats. There’s someone laying on the ground, and from here he knows they’re naked. They usually are. 

“This is how I found you the first time, when you spun my world in gold.” He says it quiet, but Arthur still flinches hard. 

“Fuck, warn a guy will you?” Arthur says, but there’s no real heat.

“What’s with you and laying on the rot anyway.” Merlin sighs. 

Arthur studies him for a fraction of a second, before he grins. “What, you think my tan is naturally this even?” He pushes himself up on his elbows and reaches a hand out. Merlin helps him up.

They don’t let go right away. “I’ve missed you, you know?” Merlin says. He feels small, a little childish, but he doesn’t back down. 

“I’ve missed you,” Arthur says it with an air of finality.

Merlin leads him towards a half-finished house. There’s no bed, and half the walls are tarp, but they find some towels to lie on. 

The angle is right this time. Spit is still disgusting, but it works, and Arthur knows how to bend his fingers, how to twist. They don’t come together, but it’s a near thing. 

16 

They don’t snap into place right away. Arthur’s color slowly comes back, and Merlin’s home gets built slowly and in sections. They bicker, a lot. Arthur always thinks he knows best and Hunith seems wary of their sudden romance. 

Merlin’s afraid. Afraid Arthur’s going to vanish again. 

Ealdor talks, because they’ve nothing else to do. About how nice it is Arthur found Merlin, about how kind it is they love each other. And, you know it’s a little odd that Arthur once babysat for him, but stranger things have happened. 

When Merlin’s home finally, finally gets finished, he hovers in the doorway. Arthur is with him, ready to see the finished product. Merlin’s more concerned about the metal in his pocket. 

He clenches his fist around it and turns towards Arthur. There’s not enough space on the stoop, and he ends up crowded between the half-opened door and Arthur. Arthur presses his lips to his cheek, eyebrows a question. 

Merlin holds up a little golden key. “If I give you this, you can’t go away again.” 

Arthur wraps his fingers around it, around Merlin’s. “Never.”


End file.
